


They Heard His Story

by SpicyTomatoSauce



Category: Original Work
Genre: Black Lives Matter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:49:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25515289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyTomatoSauce/pseuds/SpicyTomatoSauce
Summary: My contribution to BLM as an author who is unable to attend protests.None of these characters are, to my knowledge, real. They are my own characters, displaying the story of real life.
Kudos: 1





	They Heard His Story

He was marching. Of course he was, he wouldn’t have missed this for the world. He had to, for Spencer. For his Spencer. He was at the front of the group, trying his best to hold himself together as they walked. 

They were stopped, of course. The blockade of officers stood in the middle of the road, keeping them from continuing their peaceful march. A girl at his side, the one who led, put the megaphone to her mouth and proceeded to lead the others in chants.

He stared at the officers as the leader continued to shout. That one officer. He felt a burning hate bubbling up inside him at the very sight of the officer, out in the streets and still in his job. He turned to the leader and held his hand out for the megaphone.

“Please,” he whispered. “I have something I wanna say.” The leader gave him the megaphone and in time, the crowd hushed. He cleared his throat and started to speak, softly at first.

“My name is Joshua Samuels. You probably don’t know me, and that’s okay…maybe you remember the name of another boy. Spencer Samuels.” The protesters stirred, but fell silent again. He continued. “Spencer was my husband. He was kind and beautiful and passionate about his job as a writer. He wanted to change the world and, in a way, I guess he did…hopefully.

“March 28,” he said, starting to gain confidence, “Spencer was walking home from the store. He was searching for his keys in his pocket when a police officer told him to stop. When Spencer didn’t listen, the cop started to shout. Spencer took his keys out of his pocket and…” 

He broke off, composing himself for a moment. “And that son of a bitch officer shot him. The officer then refused to help him and left him dying on the ground.”  
The crowd was listening intently, hearing his story. They were finally hearing his story for the first time. He began to hand the megaphone back, but the leader shook her head.

“Keep going,” she urged with a nod and pointing at a nearby cop car. He hesitated, but the leader and another protester shoved him up onto the car so everyone could see and hear him.

He lifted the megaphone again and kept going. 

“March 28, my husband, Spencer Samuels, died at the hands of a police officer all because it was dark and he was black. He didn’t deserve to die! He deserved everything good in this world because that’s what he was! And yet, this officer took his life away when he was 24 because of the color of his goddamned skin!” 

He was starting to cry. He didn’t care. They were hearing his story, finally. 

“And so what if he didn’t comply? He was going home! He was trying to come home and they took that from him. With three gunshots to his back, they robbed me of the chance to ever see him again!”

He closed his eyes tightly for a moment before opening them. “And another thing. Right now, in this moment, I can see and point out which officer it was. I can give you the name and face of a murderer and I can tell you he’s standing right here!”

He pointed at the cop, the murderer, and turned to face him. “This bastard is the one who killed Spencer. And he is here, walking on the streets, walking free after he killed a man who was just trying to go home to see his husband! His name is Hubardson and he is a killer!”  
He bent down to get closer to the officer, the one he hated with a burning passion, the one he would love to kill, to put three bullets in his back and leave him laying there. His eyes blazed with fury as he stared into the eyes and soul of this killer.

“Do you remember him?” he asked harshly. “Spencer Samuels, the love of my life, who you murdered. Do you remember killing him? You consciously took out your gun and shot an innocent man. You stood there as he died on the street and begged for help.”

He stood back up. “Do you remember what he said as you stood by? I do. I remember hearing that recording and listening as my husband died and begged to see me. He was begging you to help him so he could see me again! I remember sitting outside that courtroom and listening as my husband said his last words. Do you remember them?”

The cop held his gaze, looking calm and emotionless, but eventually nodded. “I do,” he said, his voice also calm and emotionless.

“Then why don’t you tell everyone?” he growled. He looked back at the crowd of protesters. “Go ahead and tell everyone what Spencer said to you as he died!” he shouted. The cop mouthed the words, but he shook his head. “No. Louder. Tell everyone.”

The cop lifted his chin and fell silent, staring straight ahead.

He scoffed. “Coward,” he hissed. He turned back to the group. “He won’t tell you because he’s scared! I’ll tell you. He said to this piece of shit excuse for a man--” he glared at the cop as if he were a piece of mud on his shoe, “--he said, ‘please, help me. Don’t let me die. I have a husband--’” He broke off again to let out a quiet sob and the leader placed a hand on the roof of the car next to his foot.

“It’s okay,” she said with a reassuring smile. “Keep going. You’re doing good.”

He nodded and took a deep, rattling breath. “‘I have a husband,’” he continued, “‘Please let me see him. Please let me see Josh, I want to see him.’ Those were his last words. He just wanted to see me and this motherfucker let him die anyways! He let him die!”

The crowd started to talk amongst themselves, clearly angered now. He lowered the megaphone for a moment before starting the chant again, very quietly.

“No justice,”

“No peace!” the protesters answered. He raised his voice after a moment.

“No justice!”

“NO PEACE!”

The blockade started to move back as protesters carried forward, him at the front with the leader. He continued to lead the chant until the leader took the megaphone back, gave him a smile, and started a different chant.

“Justice for Spencer!” she shouted. 

The crowd answered, “Justice for them all!”

“Justice for Spencer!” she shouted again.

“Justice for Spencer! Justice for them all!” came the replies. He lifted his head and continued to walk.

“Justice for Spencer!” the crowd chanted behind him. He nodded.

“Justice for Spencer,” he whispered. “Justice for Spencer! Justice for my husband!” he shouted. The cops stopped again and he came face to face with that killer again. “Justice for my husband,” he repeated.  
“You don’t deserve that badge or anything else except a cell and a coffin.” 

The cop shoved him back and he ran into another protester, who helped steady him. The marchers pressed forward still shouting and a few were recording.

He stepped back for a moment and glanced around.

Everyone of all different shapes and sizes, colors, sexualities, and genders were all pressing forward, demanding justice for his husband and for all the others whose lives were taken in an instant.

The end of the world, they would call it later as the news showed the chaos that followed his speech.

But Joshua Samuels didn’t see the end of the world.

He saw the beginning of a new one.

In dedication of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Elijah McClain, and all others who were wrongfully taken from this world. Remember to continue to fight in whatever way you can because

Black Lives Matter


End file.
